The Things They Carried
by twentysevenseconds
Summary: Eric Forman deals with his draft notice for the Vietnam War. AU
1. I

**READ ME FIRST! :) So here I am with yet another new story. This one is short, and dramatic, and frankly quite different than anything I've ever written before. It is based off of one of my favorite books, "The Things They Carried," by Tim O'Brien, and it is not quiet a war story, but it's something like that. You'll have to read to find out. I would like you to know upfront that I have all seven of the chapters already written. They are all short and drabble-esque, and how quickly I post them will depend solely on reviews. I'm completely uncertain about how much readership a story like this will attract, but I would really request that everyone give it a chance. I know it's a "war" story and that might weed some of you out right away, but folks, an 18-year-old girl wrote it. I promise it's not boring, or gory.**

**Now, in order to make the That 70's Show characters work into the plot, which is about the Vietnam War, I had to tinker around with the setting. This fic takes place in what would have been SEASON 5 of That 70's Show, except it is set around 1972 instead of 1978. The other special detail I would like to draw your attention to is the quotes that will be at the beginning of every chapter. These quotes come from the book, which is fabulous, by the way, and you should read it.**

**The only other thing I have to say is if you like it, please review it. It really doesn't take much time, and it makes my day and inspires me to post faster, especially in an instance like this, when I've already got the whole thing written. I _write _for myself, but I _post _for you guys. Even just a number 1-10 is very encouraging. I appreciate your feedback a lot.**

**Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with the cast, writers, or producers of That 70's Show, nor do I claim to own any characters or ideas from the FOX broadcast. The Things They Carried belongs to the author Tim O'Brien, and I have borrowed only the title and several credited quotes.**

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"It was very sad, he thought. The things men carried inside. The things men did or felt they had to do." ~Tim O'Brien

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It starts out like any normal day.

He's walking up the driveway with Donna, holding her hand like he sometimes does when they're alone. She's wearing her engagement band, and occasionally when he runs his finger over it she'll crinkle her nose and smile at him. He likes sharing this secret with her, so she'll have to take it off when they go to a movie with the gang later this afternoon, but she wore it all morning. That's why he loves these quiet fall Saturdays with her… just her. Secretly, on days like these he likes to pretend that they're already married; that he's her husband. He thinks he's going to like it a whole lot.

They're almost to the Vista Cruiser when his mom opens the sliding door to the kitchen. "Eric," she calls, wiping her flour-covered hands on her apron, "Can you get the mail while you're outside?"

Donna eases herself onto the hood of the Cruiser, letting him know in unspoken terms that she'll wait for him, so he retreats to the end of the driveway and tugs open the rusted metal lid, shifting the conglomeration of envelopes into his waiting arms. He sifts through them absentmindedly as he heads back up the driveway. Electric bill, car payment, mortgage slip…

He stops as soon as the words on the bottom envelope register. The easy-going, carefree expression falls off his face as he lets the rest of the mail fall to the ground.

"Eric?" Donna is standing up now. He feels her concerned gaze on him, but he can't bring himself to tear his eyes away from the black print at the center of the envelope he clutches. He stares so hard the letters begin to swim.

"What is that?" Donna is standing right in front of him now. She's stooped down to gather the rest of the mail into her arms, and she slowly straightens, eyeing him wearily. When he doesn't acknowledge her words, she looks ready to grab the envelope out of his hands and read it for herself, so he blows out a deep breath and tucks it in his back pocket.

"It's nothing," he tries, slinging his arm around her shoulders and attempting to veer her back towards his house.

But she shakes her head and stills him by placing her hand against his chest. "Don't do that," she reprimands him gently, her tone reminding him that she knows him better than anyone.

Realizing that he is defeated, he swallows hard and studies the top of his shoes. "It's my draft notice," he finally mumbles, chancing a glance at her face.

She just stares at him for a long moment before blowing out a breath. "Holy shit."

"Yeah," he agrees. Holy shit.

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**The next chapter is ready and waiting... if you'd like to read it, please review!**


	2. II

**A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews last chapter, guys. I really appreciate your feedback and I hope the rest of this little ficlet will live up to your expectations. I'm happy you're as excited about this story as I am :)**

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"Everything was such a damned nice idea when it was an idea." ~Tim O'Brien

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The next day, he sits in the basement with the gang, listening to Kelso rave on and on about the new 8-track his parents had bought him. He'd received a draft notice too, and was set to ship out for boot camp a little more than two weeks before Eric was. His parents are so proud that their son is going to be a soldier, and Kelso sounds excited at the prospect of 'fighting the commies'. Everyone congratulates him. Eric fidgets.

When everyone leaves, Donna shifts to scratch her knee, and Eric flinches. "Hey," she murmurs, setting a hand on his thigh. "You're like, a million miles away." She stares at him until he glances at her.

"Sorry."

"No, don't… God, don't _apologize_." She sighs, and rests her head in the crook of his neck. "What are you gonna tell Red and Kitty?"

He plays with a strand of her hair rather than answering. Finally, he exhales. "I don't know." He tells her that he may not fully understand what this war is about, but he understands that people are dying. He isn't sure if the Vietnamese are worth fighting, but he can't look someone in the eye and shoot them; man, woman, commie, or American. That he _is_ sure of. Yet, it's too late to sign up for the National Guard. He doesn't qualify for conscientious objector. His options are really limited. He guesses he'll just wait.

Donna wraps her hand around his and leans up to suck on his neck for a moment, pressing gentle nuzzle after gentle nuzzle to that spot behind his earlobe he likes. "I love you," she whispers into his ear, because she's not sure what else to say.


	3. III

**A/N: So, as you can see, a couple of these installments are pretty short. I'm sort of trying out a new writing style, and I think this piece is just best approached in short little doses like this. But these are probably the shortest two chapters in the story, so I figured I could go ahead and post them both at the same time. Thanks again for your reviews. I may be able to post another chapter tomorrow as well... but I would really like to hear your thoughts on these two chapters first :)**

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"It was my view then, and still is, that you don't make war without knowing why. Knowledge of course, is always imperfect, but it seemed to me that when a nation goes to war it must have reasonable confidence in the justice and imperative of its cause. You can't fix your mistakes. Once people are dead, you can't make them undead." ~Tim O'Brien

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He leaves in a fortnight. He's resigned himself to that fact. He isn't sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

Red has been giving him all of his old war stuff. His boots, his canteen, his pocket knife. Eric has gotten good at holding back that queasy feeling he gets whenever he thinks about killing someone. If he closes his eyes and swallows a few times, the nausea more or less goes away.

Today at the hardware store, Red had nudged the check-out man and gestured to Eric. "I'm buyin' some wool socks for my boy," he'd bragged. "He's going to 'Nam."

It made Eric think of all those evenings during grade school when he would bring home his spelling tests to show them to his father. _"Look, dad," _he'd wave the work-sheet in front of his father's newspaper, _"I got them all right." _Although his mother would ooh and ahh, Red was never the one to volunteer to hang anything up on the fridge. But bring up boot camp or wool socks, and his father's eyes lit up. It was sort of ironic, really: he couldn't remember his father ever being this proud of him in his entire life, and he hadn't even done anything yet.

They'd all said goodbye to Kelso yesterday. He'd looked real nice in his uniform. Kitty had cried. So had Jackie and Donna. Eric had felt like it, but he just shook his friend's hand, aware of the cautious glances everyone was shooting his way. The ones that seemed to say, "You're next."

Now he's lying on Donna's bed, staring at the ceiling. She's sitting at her desk, finishing up some math problems for school. Every couple of seconds she gives a little confused grunt, followed quickly by the scratching of her eraser. He wants to tell her she's adorable, but it comes out, "Do you think I'll die over there?"

Donna just stares at him. She swallows hard, then looks away. "God dammit, Eric," is all he makes out before the tears start falling.

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**The next chapter is ready and waiting... if you'd like to read it, please review!**


	4. IV

**A/N: Here's chapter four :)**

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"...You find yourself studying the fine colors on the river, you feel wonder and awe at the setting of the sun, and you are filled with a hard, aching love for how the world could be and always should be, but now is not." ~Tim O'Brien

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His parents are in the kitchen arguing. They think he's at the Hub, but he came home early. He wasn't hungry. The truth is, he just doesn't see the point in hanging out anymore. Why pretend that he's still a kid?

"…Too young, Red…"

"…Boy is eighteen years old… grown man for crissakes…"

He hates it that they're talking about him like he doesn't even get an opinion.

"He's _scared_, Red. Can't you see that? It's dangerous over there. He might _die_!"

"Nonsense. It'll be a good experience. It'll make him a man. _It's what he wants_."

Frustrated, Eric barges into the kitchen. It's something he wouldn't have done a few months ago. Normally, he tried to avoid getting involved in his parents' bickering at all costs. But this time it was different. This time it was about him.

Red and Kitty stare at him for a moment, wide-eyed. Kitty anxiously rubs her hands on the sides of her skirt and offers him a nervous smile. Red crosses his arms and raises his eyebrow. For a moment, Eric's voice is lodged in his throat. But then he stuffs his hands in his pockets, and he feels Donna's engagement ring. They'd put it there this morning, when Jackie had unexpectedly clambered down the basement steps. He clenches the cool metal disk in his fist, and suddenly he remembers everything he wanted to say.

"Stop it. Both of you, stop it." He hasn't raised his voice to his parents since he was a child, and he is horrified to find that he feels tears threatening. "I can _hear_ you. I can hear you both pretending you know how I feel, what I want. Well you don't, okay? No one does." He bites his lip, and murmurs, somewhat softer, "No one has asked _me_."

For possibly the first time in his life, both of his parents are stunned into silence. Red uncrosses his arms, but he doesn't speak. Kitty flits her hands in her lap, but presses her lips together. Finally, timidly, his mother asks him. "Eric? What do _you_ want?"

He isn't ready for that, so he clenches his jaw and avoids her gaze. He stares at the counter, then down at his shoes. What _does_ he want? The answer comes faster than he'd thought it would. "I want to go to college," he tells them simply. "I want to graduate, and buy a home, and marry Donna." He pauses. Red looks angry, but Eric continues anyway. "I like physics. Did you even know that? There's this job… called a laboratory technician. My teacher told me I'd be good at that."

Kitty is smiling. It's an odd, forced smile, but she's trying. Red has started pacing.

"You know I got accepted at Madison," Eric continues, his gaze flicking from his father's back to his mother's face. He hesitates for just a moment. "Well, _that's_ what I want," he declares softly, studying his hands. "I want the right to decide my own future. I don't want to go get holes shot through my head for a fucking war I don't believe in."

Suddenly, Red spins around. His face is purple, the vein in his neck prominent. "That's enough," he shouts, as he whips the dish towel down on the counter. "No son of mine will speak that way about his country." Eric opens his mouth to protest, but Red silences him with a glare. Kitty is very quiet. "You'll go to Vietnam, and you'll fight for your country, because it's what's expected of you. Do you have any idea what people will say about our family if you ditch out on your draft notice?" When he doesn't receive an answer, he raises his voice. "DO YOU?"

Kitty grabs Red's arm, seemingly afraid he'll try to strike Eric, and Red shakes her off with a snarl. He says nothing more, but turns on his heel and exits the house, providing an uncomfortable end to the conversation.

The kitchen is completely silent for a moment. Eric hears the dripping of the sink, which hasn't been turned all the way off. Slowly, he raises his gaze to look at his mother. "Mom…" is all he murmurs before she hurls herself into his arms, hugging her grown son as if he were five years old again, and his only hurt in the world a scraped knee.

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**The next chapter is ready and waiting... the more reviews I get, the faster I'll post it.**


	5. V

**A/N: Thank you for the reviews, guys. Your encouragement means a lot! Here's chapter five... we're nearing the end.**

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"It had all the shadings and complexities of mature adult love, and maybe more, because there were not yet words for it, and because it was not yet fixed to comparisons or chronologies or the ways by which adults measure such things. I just loved her." ~Tim O'Brien

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He's sitting in the basement alone when Donna marches through the door. She doesn't say anything when he looks up; doesn't kiss him hello or even remove her jacket. She just plops down on the couch next to him, and hands him a worn yellow pamphlet. _So You're Thinking of Moving to Canada_, the title reads. He stares at her for a long moment. "You want me to go to Canada?" he asks her evenly.

She shakes her head, and draws her knee onto the couch so it's brushing his. "No. _I_ want to go to Canada. Yesterday I applied to the University of Winnipeg. When I get in, I'm going," she tells him with a set jaw. Her tone shifts dramatically when she reaches out to grab his forearm. "Please come with me," she begs him softly, her auburn bangs falling in her eyes.

He bites his lip hard and stares down at his hands, realizing the sacrifice she's offering to make for him. "You would do this for me?" he asks her quietly, and she gives his forearm a light squeeze in response.

"Eric," she tells him, holding her pause until he glances up at her, "I would do _anything_ for you."

He'll never stop being amazed at the dedication she has for coming up with plans. They could cross the border as early as tomorrow night, find a justice of the peace to marry them the day after that, and officially start their lives together by Wednesday morning. She'll attend the University with the money Bob has saved up for her, and together with his Pricemart money, she should be able to fund a bachelor's degree in physics and a one-bedroom apartment with her savings from the radio station.

He doesn't know what to say, so he slowly eases his head into her lap. She combs back his hair with her fingers, and for a few moments the only sound in the room is that of their breathing, as they both struggle to comprehend the promises they're about to make. They both know what this means. They both know there's no going back. Eric feels a tear leak out from under his closed eyelid and dribble down his nose for the first time since he received the letter. She doesn't say anything, just strokes his hair. This is why he loves her.

"What are you gonna think when everyone starts talking about what a coward I am?" He sits up seconds later, and her hand finds his.

Donna smiles, almost shyly. "I'm gonna see a man who wasn't afraid to stand up for what he believes in," she counters, squeezing his hand. He sighs, so she adds, "And you know what, Eric? Let 'em talk. I don't care. In fact," she quirks an eyebrow up to smile at him, "If anyone does say anything, I think there's a real chance I'm just gonna love you even more."

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**A/N: The next chapter is ready and waiting... if you want to read it, please review!**


	6. VI

**A/N: Okay, here we are at the last "real" chapter. Epilogue is up next. Hope you enjoy it :)**

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"Stories are for joining the past to the future. Stories are for those late hours in the night when you can't remember how you got from where you were to where you are. Stories are for eternity, when memory is erased, when there is nothing to remember except the story." -Tim O'Brien

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The cool wind whips through the window of the Vista Cruiser, the midnight chill stinging Donna's cheek as she watches the places and memories of her childhood race by. The park behind the Morgansons' yard, where she'd fallen off the teeter-totter and lost her first tooth; the lot of the old primary school, where she'd spent many happy days before it had burned down. All these places she would never visit again…

Still, this sacrifice is nothing compared to the man who sits next to her. She looks at him and smiles. He's worth this. That one simple reminder makes her heart jump up into her throat. _He's worth this_. She knows it's true.

It had been difficult to leave her house, her father. They'd packed in the middle of the night, and left just after one AM. Last night at dinner she'd hugged him hard and told him that he was a good father, and before they'd left she'd placed a note in the refrigerator, taped to the carton of orange juice. He'd find it tomorrow morning. She tried not to imagine his reaction. He would come visit her, she reminds herself. Of course he'll come visit her.

Sometime after four o'clock in the morning, she falls asleep, wrapped in Eric's old green sweatshirt to keep warm. He keeps asking her if she wants to stop in a motel for the night, but she insists that they keep driving. They ought to get as far away as possible, as soon as possible.

She's awoken by a clap of thunder, and as she groggily pulls off the now too-warm sweatshirt, she is surprised to find that it is just after 11 AM.

"We crossed the border forty-five minutes ago," the voice beside her offers, and she turns to smile at the man she's just given up everything for. "There's a court-house in three exits," he stammers, glancing nervously between her and the road. "We can… I mean, if you _want_, we don't have to…"

She just smiles. "Let's go get married."

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It's positively _pouring_ as they climb out of the car, so they race to the entrance of the court-house, dodging puddles and laughing like two school-kids. When they reach safety under the building's pagoda, she jokingly leans over and wrings out her hair, making him smile. He loves these moments; the ones where he honestly would like to know what he did to deserve someone like her. He's been thinking of little else these past couple of days.

Two staunch looking men in business suits enter the building, and Donna straightens and makes a goofy, mocking face at Eric before reaching for the strap of her purse. A marriage license is going to cost them close to 100 dollars (they'll need to make sure they can exchange their American money inside), and no matter how much she preaches about saving all of their extra cash, he's buying her a proper diamond ring the second he's able to. While he thinks, Donna pulls out a starch white envelope and leafs through the contents briefly before pulling out several bills. Last night, Kitty had approached Eric with close to 4,000 dollars. She'd tearfully hugged him as she handed most of her savings account over and instructed him not to get Donna pregnant until they're absolutely ready.

Now, Eric swallows hard as he watches the girl, no, woman, before him shuffle the contents back into her purse. Apparently not feeling his eyes on her, she turns to look at her reflection in the heavy glass door. She smoothes her hair a couple of times and tugs at her clothes before turning to him and sighing. "I never thought that I'd be wearing jeans with dripping wet hair when I got married," she admits, straightening her shoulders.

He just smiles at her and closes the distance between them by cupping her cheek in his hand. "Hey," he murmurs quietly, touching his nose to hers, "I think you look _beautiful_."

And he does.

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**The epilogue is ready and waiting. I would really appreciate it if you would hit that little review button, especially if you haven't before. Feedback is important to an author! :)**


	7. Epilogue

**Okay, here we are at the end of the road. I just want to take a moment to thank all of my reviewers... your encouragement means so much to me, guys, and I really appreciate those of you who took the time to write me a quick review at some point (some even every chapter!). You guys are awesome.**

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"They carried all they could bear, and then some, including a silent awe for the terrible power of the things they carried." -Tim O'Brien

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_Four years later…_

It's late, nearly eleven o' clock, when Eric finally gets home. He climbs the stairs to their apartment slowly, massaging the back of his neck as he goes. Tuesdays are long days. He's up at five so he can be out of the shower before Donna needs it. By six, he's off to Dunkin' Doughnuts on the corner to work his morning shift, and Donna's out the door at six-thirty to catch the bus onto campus, where she washes dishes every morning to cover the excess cost of their tuitions. They both take classes all morning and afternoon, he in education and she in journalism, and they have maybe an hour to eat dinner and talk before heading off to their respective first jobs, she as an intern at the local newspaper and he as the night-custodian at several local business parks.

Their life can be treacherous and stressful, but every day he still thanks God he gets to wake up next to this woman and work towards a better life for her, because he'd rather be a custodian and a coffee-filler than end up like Kelso. He'd come home from Vietnam about two years ago, in a body bag. What hurt the most was the fact that they couldn't even travel home for his funeral. Instead, he and Donna had held a quiet eulogy for their old friend in their tiny living room, lighting a single candle and reminiscing about what a great, goofy man he'd been. Eric still shuddered to think that it could have just as easily been him. He knew Donna thought about it too, because she'd cried herself to sleep for a month straight after that.

His shoulders slump and his feet are heavy as he reaches the landing of their door and begins to fumble around for his keys. He breathes out a deep sigh and vows to leave his stress and worries at the door tonight, because as hard as they work, they are finally reaping their rewards. He and Donna will both graduate in just two months time, and they've each got a great job lined up. She'll be a reporter on the newspaper staff, and he'll be a junior high science teacher. With the paychecks they've been pulling in recently, they've even discussed purchasing a house by the end of the summer. "We'll see," Donna had been cheeky last night. He smiles at the memory, and eases open the door as the lock gives way to his key.

It smells good. Why does it smell good? It's almost midnight. He drops his briefcase on the chair wearily, and sure enough, there she is, standing at the stove. "Hi."

She smiles her greeting, and he makes his way over to her, wrapping his arms around her waist to hug her from behind. "Whatcha making, _eh_?" He whispers into her ear, and she playfully pushes his shoulder, acknowledging the over-used 'Canadian' joke he uses at least once a day.

"Soup," is her simple answer, and she gives him a strange smile before twisting around him to reach for the bowls she's already set out on their little table.

He's biting back his sigh of relief, because he's fairly certain it's nearly impossible to burn _soup_, when he notices that for some reason, there are three spots set at the table instead of two. Two of their ceramic white bowls (a belated wedding gift Red and Kitty had delivered when they'd visited last year) sit in their usual places, but a small plastic bowl with a dog on it and a matching undersized spoon sits on the empty side. Confused, Eric furrows his brow. "Are we expecting someone?"

Donna whirls around at his words, and grins when she meets his eye. Her smile is wide, infectious, and her eyes shine as she takes several steps towards him. Her hands stretch across the front of her apron when she whispers, "In about nine months, yes."

His eyes go huge as he realizes what she means, and she starts to giggle when he yanks her into a fierce hug. "Oh my God," he whispers, gently stroking her hair as he pulls back to look at her. "You're pregnant. We're having a baby."

A tear dribbles down her face as she nods her head, and when he pulls her in for another hug she murmurs, happily, "A little you."

"Hopefully with a lot of _you_," he shakes his head, grinning, before crashing his lips down onto hers. He thinks that for the first time in four years, he's going to call in sick to work tomorrow, and maybe he just won't go to class.

And hours later, as he lays in bed next to his sleeping wife, watching the swell of her naked belly as she breathes in and out… he knows with all certainty that he made the right choice. He runs his hand over the flat curve, and he understands that because this baby exists, he will never need any further validation for that decision, as long as he lives.


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